The Final Storm

08. The Harsh Duties of a Soldier

"Finally!" the little man behind the desk exclaimed. "Where were you?"

Saluting, Captain Carter swallowed the last bit of his spiced fruit. "Attending to some very important military matters, Sir!"

"Is that so?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, since you are so diligent, I'm sure you will be delighted to hear that I have something even more important for you to attend to. Here."

A folder sailed through the air towards Carter. Nimbly catching the thing, he let it fall open and started rifling through the contents. The more he read, the more serious his expression became.

"Resident Minister...is this report accurate?"

"Afraid so." The other man grunted. "In the garrison at Meerut, they recently received a batch of the new Enfield rifles. Along with the rifles came a big batch of ammunition. No problem, really. Nothing out of the ordinary. But then some idiot started spreading rumours that the grease on the paper cartridges was made from cow fat. Of course those bloody heathens in the local troops started making trouble immediately!"

"Really?" Captain Carter cocked an eyebrow. "Such a surprise, considering that cows are their sacred animals."

"Like I said, bloody heathens," the resident minister continued, apparently perfectly impervious to sarcasm. "And as if that weren't enough, rumours started up that there was pig fat in the cartridges, too, and the Mohammedans joined the fun!"

"How shocking."

"Well, now you know why the army sent you here. Initially, I thought they were panicking needlessly and the matter would blow over, but..." He grimaced. "Things are getting worse day by day. If something isn't done, this could get ugly."

"Let me guess...I'm just the right man for the job?"

"Exactly." Taking a slip of paper out of a drawer, the resident minister scribbled a signature on it and handed it to Carter. "Take this to the stable master and he will give you the fastest horse available. I need you to head to Meerut and assuage the fears of the dissatisfied natives. Tell them that the bullets have been replaced with new models that no longer contain any animal fat."

Captain Carter raised an eyebrow. "Have they?"

The Resident Minister gave a snort. "How would I know? For that matter, why would I care? The thing that matters is that those savages can't tell the difference."

Carter gave a serious nod. "What you say makes sense. You have inspired me, Sir. When I get home to England, I must immediately set fire to a church, and when the police try to arrest me, I will tell them that I've never set fire to a church, just something that coincidentally looks like a church. I'm sure they will be stupid enough to believe it, right?"

The Resident Minister stiffened. "Are you mocking me, Captain?"

"Of course not, Sir. I am a man who likes challenges. I leave easy tasks to others."

"Challenges?" The Resident Minister's eyelids twitched. "Like basking in the sun and sipping drinks?"

Captain Carter placed hand onto his chest, smiling completely unrepentantly. "You have exposed me, Sir! I lied. I am in fact nothing but a lazy layabout. With that in mind...could you perhaps assign me a slightly less dangerous task than going to Meerut? Perhaps sticking my head into the maw of an angry lion, or testing a new variant of highly volatile gunpowder?"

The resident minister's eyes narrowed. "Those words could be counted as disobeying orders from a superior, Captain!"

"They could," the captain allowed jovially, "if, like you, I actually worked for the East India Company. Fortunately, I am here as an observer from the British Army and thus not obliged to obey you." Abruptly, his voice turned cold. "Even more fortunately, that means I can make as many comments on your incompetence as I want without being court-martialled."